The Four Fifths Spy
by rytern
Summary: Kicked out of MI6 due to his predicament, Alex Rider finds himself back at Brookland. However, he soon finds that being normal isn't as easy as it seems. A slowly updated story:)
1. Chapter 1

Just an idea for a one-shot that I had that _might_ expand. It's kinda set up as the first chapter of a story, and the ending doesn't close it up like it would for a one-shot, but I'm not sure if I'll have the time to expand on this. Anyways, please review and tell me your thoughts on a continuation?

 **Summary:** Kicked out of MI6 due to his predicament, Alex Rider finds himself back at Brookland. One-Shot (or maybeee more?).

 **~oo0oo~**

The Four Fifths Spy

Sunlight streamed through the window, refracting off the glass and flickering throughout his room. His fingers shook as pulled back the curtains further and further, letting through more light through. It wasn't enough.

 _Light_.

He needed it to see, of course. Didn't everyone?

Because after all, what did he have if he couldn't see?

He slowly walked out of his room into the brightly lit hall, failing to turn off his bedroom light. It didn't matter. Not really.

MI6 paid his electricity bills, and currently, Alex couldn't care less about the state of the environment. Even if he was diligent with turning off lights, it didn't really make an impact. Not with the rest of the population ignoring this problem. So Alex decided to just follow along with the rest of them, which of course, he figured, was the real issue here.

Apathy.

And yet, Alex still couldn't bring himself to care.

He stalked into the kitchen, shoving bread into the toaster and waited for a few minutes before realizing it wasn't plugged in. Cursing under his breath, Alex ripped out one of the cords - a lamp - and shoved the toaster plug into the wall.

His mood darkened with the room, as that one lamp flicked off.

Of course it didn't leave him in absolute darkness; the ceiling lights shone brightly and various lamps were plugged in throughout the room, but now he couldn't see into that one corner of the room _as well_.

Alex busied himself by getting out butter and jam as he waited to hear the _ping_ of the toaster. After setting the table (for one, because _she_ was gone), he finally marched back over to see what was wrong.

Alex scowled.

The toast had finished, and by the looks of it, had been done for a while.

The burnt smell wafted into his nose as he plucked the already cooled bread out with his fingers. He quickly downed it, along with a cup of coffee as he stared out the window, lost in thought.

His watch vibrated, a violent motion against his wrist, and Alex jumped to his feet.

Time to go.

Time to be _normal_.

He knew he could do this, because after all, there were no more missions in his future. He wouldn't have any more unexplained absences. MI6 was done with him. The frown on his face deepened as he remembered his last meeting with Alan Blunt. The man had dismissed him without a second thought (but only after he had signed copious paperwork). While he had hated working for them, Alex had naively thought that he meant something to the organization. That he was a special tool that was irreplaceable.

But he knew what happened to tools when they were broken - they got thrown out.

And so Alex, the physically and mentally broken toy, was kicked out of MI6 without a glance.

Which was funny, of course. They had managed to take his school life from him, but Alex had always thought that _at least_ he'd have a stable job (or at least as stable as it could be for a spy). But now, now...MI6 had managed to take his entire life away from him. At least they still payed the bills-

Alex shook his head.

He could finish the year normally.

He just had to pull it off.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he stepped outside the house, almost tripping over a package at the door. A cold chill washed over Alex as he realized that he had no idea when it had been delivered. Were his instincts really this dampened? Would he be able to defend himself from intruders if he couldn't sense a person delivering a package?

Only the cool metal of the gun pressed against his skin kept his wits intact. He still had defense, and even though it was illegal, Alex wouldn't be going to school unless he had weapons with him.

And he had more than a gun. A large portion of his school supplies had alternate uses; remnants of his previous missions, and Alex wasn't about to leave any of it behind. Especially now that he didn't have MI6 backing his movements.

Was it safe to open the package?

So many things could be concealed inside the flimsy looking cardboard.

Alex leaned down to study the label, hoping that it wouldn't blow up in his face.

A familiar address gleamed back at him. _The Bank._

Alex groaned. Should he really open it?

But curiosity got the best of him and he ripped open the seal, revealing a pair of black rectangular glasses. The lenses were thick, implying that they were for someone with _terrible_ eyesight and Alex couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

He peeked back into the box, discovering a thin piece of a paper. It was from Smithers.

The ghost of a smile flickered across his face as he read the message from the only person truly on his side.

Alex slid the glasses onto his face and boarded his bike, beginning the short transit to Brookland Comprehensive.

 **~oo0oo~**

"Morris, Sarah?"

"Here!"

"Michaels, Andrew?

"Present!"

"Orson, Kyle?"

"Here, sir!"

Mr. Browning, the English teacher at Brookland, paused momentarily. He had heard rumors of the boy from his colleges; about how the child was barely passing his classes and had a spotty attendance record.

"Rider, Alexander?"

"Here."

The voice echoed quietly from the back of the classroom, and Mr. Browning looked up from his list to see a blond haired boy sitting in the back of the classroom. The seats near him were unoccupied, almost as if the other students were afraid catching a disease.

Then again, from what he had heard about Rider's "sicknesses," he wouldn't be surprised if _other_ rumors would have gone around about the boy.

He'd be sure to assign seats soon. Rider might be able to make friends soon, or at least it might begin to diminish that stigma

The teacher quickly finished the roll call, and moved straight into a lecture about the requirements for his class.

The room was full of questions, which was a little surprising since he wasn't expecting _that_ many students to be interested in how grading worked, but even amid the distractions, Mr. Browning didn't miss the way that Rider stayed focused on him the entire class.

He didn't look down to jot notes as the other students did. The only time that Mr. Browning saw Alex turn his head downward was when he announced that he'd give them five minutes to write a short paragraph about their summer.

But for the rest of the class, Rider stayed oddly attentive.

He seemed the model student; quiet and interested, but _something_ was off.

And it wasn't until the end of class that he realized. Rider never made eye contact.

Not like the other kids, who would momentarily make eye contact before their eyes flitted away in fear of being called on.

No, Rider seemed focused on the lower half of his face. It seemed closer to his...mouth maybe? Mr. Browning turned his back to the class and quickly swiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. Was there something on his face?

He seemed good?

Perhaps the boy was just shy and didn't want to meet his eyes?

But it seemed like so much more.

"Please pass up your assignments! I'll hopefully have them all graded by the end of next week." It was only a paragraph, but when there were nearly a hundred of them, the time added up. Mr. Browning knew he was going to spend a couple hours a night reading about his student's summers.

But it was worth it. Every year he used this as a way to get to know his students and figure out the level of writing they were on before he started with longer assignments. It gave him a starting point.

And perhaps, it would give him an insight on Alex Rider.

 **~oo0oo~**

Tom Harris had heard the whispers that had rippled across the halls. At first he hadn't believed it, because after all, they had gone several months without contact, and it seemed just too good to be true.

But as he left his first period, Tom spotted a familiar blonde head bobbing throughout the wave of students.

 _Alex Rider was back!_

"Alex!" The joyous cry left his lips as he scurried after his friend, but the teenage spy didn't even turn.

Had he not heard Tom? But that was impossible wasn't it? Tom knew that Alex's senses and instincts were impressive.

He could spot a threat a mile away (that might have been a _slight_ exaggeration) and on multiple occasions, only Alex had heard the comments that Tom muttered under his breath.

In fact, in their fifth year, Alex had once bragged to him about his superior ears after they had both gotten their physicals done. Since then, Tom had always called him Dumbo (after the elephant with the large floppy ears).

Was Alex ignoring him?

No... Tom hadn't done anything. Well at least not recently.

Tom had already apologized for that shaving cream incident a few months back.

A few months. Had it only been that long? Tom had other friends, of course, but he had known Alex for so long. It was hard for him not knowing if his best mate was alive or dead.

"Alex!" Tom finally reached his friend and grasped him on the shoulder.

Alex twirled around and before Tom knew it, he had a sharpened pencil pressed up against his throat.

"Uhh.. Alex?"

"Sorry. Instinct." Alex muttered as he lowered the pencil, eyes skimming the hall. He was probably making sure that nobody saw that incident.

"It's okay, mate. Remember that time that you once judo flipped me onto the ground? That was pretty epic, though I did have a bruised back for a week..." Tom rambled, suddenly quite worried for his friend. When had Alex's eyes gotten that dark, or his face so gaunt? He looked like he came back from the dead.

"Hey wait... when'd you get _glasses_?"

"This morning." The reply was short and clipped and Tom couldn't help but feel his stomach sinking further and further. Who was this Alex who couldn't seem to manage a smile?

But he kept trying. "Is it some new type of, you know... _gear_? Do they, you know, shoot lasers or explode or something? Can you get me a pair?"

"No."

"Er... now that you're back do you wanna do something after school?" Tom brightened, "Maybe Jack could-"

"Tom, I-I... I gotta go."

Tom watched as Alex quickly strolled away from him, and this time, he didn't try to follow.

Alex would come to him when he was ready...right?

 **~oo0oo~**

It wasn't Tom's fault - he couldn't have known. It was just so soon. Alex could barely look at her stuff, still scattered throughout the empty house, much less hear her name.

And it was all his fault. If it wasn't for him, Jack would be living in America, happy and carefree.

Her parents would still have a daughter.

 _Oh god, he didn't even know how her parents were faring._

He assumed that they were approached by some MI6 agent, or government official. They would have been given condolences in a strict and unfeeling military voice, and left to wonder if anyone really cared. And the official would leave the house, crossing that one duty off a large list of other jobs.

It would be just like Ian.

 _"She was a patriot."_

 _"She served her country well."_

She wasn't even supposed to be involved!

And it was all on him.

An elbow jabbed into his rib, jolting Alex out of his thoughts. He looked around wildly, finger sliding to the waistband of his jeans.

No.

He didn't need a weapon. It wasn't Scorpia or some other terrorist organization. It wasn't an assassin. And yet, as he spotted the group of boys whispering to each other and pointing at him in the corner, Alex Rider's heart couldn't stop racing. He never felt safe, and he doubted he ever would. His instincts from MI6 had been ingrained into him for longer than a year. This was who he was.

This was who Ian had trained him to be.

Alex stared at the group of boys, words sliding across his vision, courtesy of the glasses.

 _Druggie._

 _Adict._

 _Gang member._

 _Retarded._

He shut his eyes tightly blocking out the words.

The blackness was almost overwhelming - one of the reasons why Alex had started leaving the lights on.

MI6 hadn't only taken away his life. On his last mission he hadn't lost only Jack.

He slid off the glasses and continued to stroll through the hallways, confidently like Ian had taught him.

It was so much easier to pretend you weren't affected by the rumors when you couldn't hear them.

And Alex couldn't.

So he walked through a busy hallway, full of chattering students, and didn't hear a word.

It was his senses that had always saved his life.

Sight, taste, touch, smell, and... hearing.

Taking one of those away made him less of a spy didn't it? That was the reason, after all, that MI6 "let him go." A spy that didn't have all his senses to rely on, who wouldn't be able to respond to the sound of a bullet, couldn't really be counted on to fulfill a mission, could they?

So to MI6, Alex was useless.

Only one fifth of him was gone and yet it felt like so much more.

He missed the sound of the birds in the morning, of music, of other people's voices.

And he knew it was never coming back.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay guys, here's chapter two. I have a proposal to make…

How many of you would be interested in me continuing this story with inconsistent updates?

I can't promise an update "every week" or stuff like that, because, well, life. However, I do want to give a shot at a multi chapter story and I do think I'll be able to slowly make progress on it (emphasis on slowly).

So I know this is kinda weird to ask, but would anyone actually be okay with that?

 **~oo0oo~**

The Four Fifths Spy, Chapter Two

Alex stared at Mrs. Meyers, the Biology teacher intently, focused on the way her lips moved. An array of different patterns, and yet they all came together to make a sentence - a _sound_.

He was able to read lips, of course, but not well enough to rely off that ability.

Which is where Smithers came in. Bless that man, he had thought up a way that Alex could act normal and seem like nothing had change.

If only he could actually _solve_ the problem.

A sharp prod in his back caused Alex to look up hurriedly. His gaze had dropped to the surface of his wooden desk, and Alex had lost track of what Mrs. Meyers had been saying.

His head whipped around the class, side to side, taking in the expectant looks on his classmate's faces.

Staring back at the teacher, he morphed his face into look of boredom.

"Sorry, did you ask me something?"

His teacher looked slightly annoyed, and rightly so, since Alex figured that she had already asked the questions several times.

"Would you like to share with the class your writing assignment?"

Her mouth moved quickly, and Alex hurriedly scanned his eyes back and forth, reading and interpreting the words that flowed across the virtual screen in front of him.

It was genius of Smithers, really. He had come up with a device that allowed Alex to read the words people were saying. As long as he kept his eyes focused on the person's mouth, he would be able to understand them.

Of course, when he _wasn't_ looking at a person, Alex really was completely and utterly screwed.

"I-uh…er…"

Speaking of being screwed, Alex hadn't done the assignment. How could he? The prompt was 'what did you do over break?'

A simple, bland prompt that every teacher seemed to use, and it was supposed to be easy, but what could Alex really say?

' _Yes ma'am, I took down a criminal organization, watched my guardian die, and got kicked out of MI6. Want a cookie?_ '

Alex may have been upset at MI6, but he hadn't lost _all_ common sense (or at least he thought). Sometimes, however, it was aggravating to lie about almost every aspect of his life.

"I mostly stayed at home."

The teacher's eyebrows crept right up to the top of her forehead.

"Alex, could you please read out your paper?"

Why was she picking on him? He hadn't done the stupid prompt, just like he hadn't for Mr. Browning's class.

"I-I didn't do it, ma'am."

The teacher frowned distastefully.

"With all of your absences, I would have thought you'd make an extra effort to keep up." Her nostrils flared slightly. "It appears I was wrong."

Alex shrank into his seat.

He knew, just knew, that he was surrounded by whispering students. Whispering about him. Laughing at him.

He could ignore it.

But as Alex walked out of class, and went to join a group of people that he considered his friends, he was tapped on the shoulder. Slowly turning around, he stared up at Trey Crawford.

Trey was on the football team, and had played with Alex until he had quit due to his absences. The weren't particularly close, but Alex still counted Trey as one of his few friends.

The boy pulled Alex to the corner of the hallway, out of earshot of the other students.

"Hey Alex."

Alex nodded his head in greeting a slight smile gracing his face.

"We don't want you here." Trey stated blatantly, and Alex's smile dropped suddenly. He couldn't help but wish he could hear the emotion behind the other boy's words.

"All you do is cause problems. I don't know _where_ you go during all those times you're gone, but I do know it's not because of illnesses." Trey looked down at his feet before speaking again. "It's not that we don't want to be friends with you anymore, Alex, _it's just_ …. it seems like you're involved in something bad and we don't want to get caught up in it."

Alex nodded numbly.

It made sense, really.

Who, after all, would want to be friends with someone that they believed was caught up in a gang?

Yes, it hurt, but Alex could deal. He'd had worse, hadn't he?

In a few years he'd be out of school and none of this would matter. His peers would just be a distant memory in his otherwise exciting life.

That was something reassuring, right?

But it wasn't, really. He didn't feel any better.

Alex just felt more alone.

 **~oo0oo~**

The warm sun beat on his face as he began the long walk home.

His bike was out of commission, after suffering a severe crash into a fence, and Alex _really_ didn't feel like taking the tube. There had always been something mildly offsetting about standing in a closed compartment with several strangers, but now, _now_ he couldn't even think of the idea without shuddering.

The amount of attacks that could happen inside the tube were endless.

Suddenly, a tingle flooded through Alex's body, causing the hairs on his neck to stand straight up, and his heart to race faster and faster.

He couldn't say how he knew, maybe it was some inner spy sense, but _he just knew_ that he was being followed.

Alex kept his face straight as he rounded the corner.

He couldn't rely on his hearing anymore, meaning that he couldn't gauge the person's distance by the slapping of their shoes on the concrete. Of course, if it was an assassin, there wouldn't be any sound to rely on.

It was very unnerving.

After walking a few more steps, Alex decided he couldn't take it anymore. He whipped around suddenly, assuming a stance that looked natural, but prepared him for a fight.

The street was empty except for an old man walking his dog a ways back.

Alex shook his head. Had he really become this paranoid? He'd thought he was better than that.

So Alex continued on his walk home, never noticing the sharp _click_ of the camera behind him.

 **~oo0oo~**

"Have you found anything?"

"No, not _yet_. Smithers is working on it, but we don't even know if this is something we can fix!"

The cold smile of Mr. Blunt met the lady in front of him. She shivered slightly, and reached to take a single peppermint out of her pocket.

"You can't use him." Mrs. Jones stated, _trying_ to pound some common sense into the man. "We already let him go!"

"Of course it's only temporary, you knew that." He leaned back slightly in his chair, assuming a position that Mrs. Jones knew was far from casual. Blunt meant business.

"Alexander is far too valuable to just dispose of him."

Mrs. Jones's stomach crept up to her throat at his words.

Perhaps this was why she could never be head of MI6. Most of the time, she was good at keeping her emotions out of the issue, and was able to accomplish what needed to be done. But sometimes... _sometimes_ Mrs. Jones had to admit that even she had morals. Even she knew how far the limits stretched.

Mr. Blunt, however, seemed to have no qualms about using a _child_ for his dirty work.

She supposed it made sense that Blunt was such an effective head. He got stuff done because he didn't let any emotions or attachments interfere with the final goal.

However, that didn't mean it was right.

"Inform me of any progress Smithers makes." Blunt paused momentarily, seemingly pondering something. "I expect to hear something soon."

Mrs. Jones nodded and promptly walked out of the office.

What Blunt was asking was very near insane. He needed a way to cure Rider's deafness, so that the boy could be put back in the field.

It didn't matter to him that it was permanent, and that Rider's ears had already been looked at by multitudes of doctors and professionals who all said the same thing: _'he'll never be able to hear again.'_

No, he wanted the impossible.

It was only Mrs. Jones's constant arguments with the head that kept Rider from going out in his current condition.

She hoped that Smithers wouldn't have a solution.

Because, if he did, Rider's future would lie with MI6.

Permanently.

 **~oo0oo~**

Mr. Browning sat at his dining room table, grading papers. It was only the first day of school, but he wanted to make a good impression on the students and other faculty. It was, after all, his first year at Brookland.

He thumbed through the stack of work, looking for a certain paper.

At last, he found it.

Alex Rider's.

Mr. Browning bit back the surge of disappointment as he stared at the blank sheet in front of him.

 **~oo0oo~**

So here we have a MI6 that's not done with Alex, a stalker, and an interested teacher. It was short, but it does start to set up the rest of the story.

Please review and give feedback (constructive criticism is great).

Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

I'M BACK!

Sorry about the long wait, I may have…. _forgotten_ to update.

It's also kind of short again (I'm really sorry guys). Night Riders' (guest) review was pretty helpful, and I really was motivated to write a long chapter. And I tried.

And then I was done with the chapter and I looked at the word count, and it still wasn't that long. I have trouble writing more than 2,000 words (it sucks, I know). However, it is longER.

BUT on the bright side, chapter 4 and 5 should be longer (I planned them out and I THINK I'll have more to write).

So sorry guys, but enjoy!

 **~oo0oo~**

The Four Fifths Spy, Chapter Three

The hollow sound of a clock chiming rang throughout the apartment room, signalling that it was two am. It was quiet outside, for everyone had gone to sleep except one man.

He sat hunched over his computer, typing furiously, almost as if he was on a mission. He was, in a way, but it wasn't a mission of self sacrifice or good deed. No, he was doing it for the money, and the fame that would surely result from the story.

Edward Hawkins, used-to-be-esteemed news reporter, _knew_ he had a story.

And this story should help himself rise back to fame again.

It was hard to stay at the top of journalism and Edward knew from experience. He had many breakthroughs at the beginning of his career, but one bad story had him tumbling back down into the realm of nobodies.

Edward wanted to get back to the top, and seemingly, he had stumbled upon a story that would do just that for him.

He didn't have all the facts, of course. It was hard, after all, to dig up the cold, dirty facts about their beloved government.

But Edward liked a challenge.

Ignoring the need for sleep pounding against his head, Edward let loose a small grin as he guided his mouse towards the _POST_ button.

He clicked, and the article loaded on the screen, hopefully sending itself out to hundreds - if not _thousands_ \- of people.

He leaned back in his chair, brushing back a few stray hairs from his face, and taking a deep sip of his lukewarm coffee.

Yes, he might have been ostracized from the world of news, but he still had some loyal followers. He was depending on those people to read and share his article.

So he sat there in the early hours of the morning, watching the views and comments roll in as people clicked on his website.

The government would try to stop him, of course, but Edward wasn't going to lose to them.

He liked a challenge, but there was no fun in that unless he succeed.

And he would do everything to make sure he did.

 **~oo0oo~**

On a normal day, Royal & General Bank was relatively quiet. A few people might wander in looking for bank services, but they would be quickly directed somewhere else. It was actually quite boring, considering that the bank was home to one of the largest spy operations in Britain.

Today, however, was _not_ a normal day.

Phones rang off the hook, and a steady stream of military personnel ran around the building. The receptionist had given up on maintaining the Bank's cover, and instead tried to aid the distressed military personnel as much as possible by directing them to certain floors.

Today, the issue of national security loomed above the heads of these people. If they didn't act soon, the secrets of the government could be leaked to the civilians.

Mrs. Jones sat in the office of Alan Blunt, waiting for him to finish a phone call. Her mind raced, and she fiddled with her hands in her lap as she pretended to read a file. _How had they gotten into this mess?_

"Yes…..no, I don't think that'll work." Blunt's voice rang clearly through the room. From the slight edge to his tone, Mrs. Jones could tell that he was stressed.

But as head of MI6, he hid it well.

"...No, we don't need to inform them. The article's just been-"

Blunt paused and his face obtained a slightly rosy tint.

"I understand."

Mrs. Jones looked up from her file as Blunt hung up the phone.

"Smithers has wiped all traces of the article from the web. He was able to remove it about an hour after it was published, meaning that only a few people were able to view it." She spoke confidently, not allowing her voice to betray any of the emotion she was feeling.

It was, after all, part of the job.

"Do we know who was behind this?"

"Not exactly." Mrs. Jones pulled another sheet of paper from her bag, and handed it to Blunt.

It showed a copy of the article, the headline bold against the crisp white paper.

 _GOVERNMENT BLACKMAILS UNDERAGED CHILD FOR DIRTY WORK_.

"It states that it published by Edward Hawkins. He was a well known journalist a few years back, until...well, until he died in a car accident."

Blunt narrowed his eyes. "Either Hawkins has miraculously returned from the dead, or we have someone using his name."

Mrs. Jones nodded.

"However, Smithers did cross reference this article with some of his previous works, and it does match his writing style." She had gone downstairs to talk to the man as soon as the article was published, and he had been working on it for the entirety of the day.

"Keep Smithers on it. I want to know who this person is, where he operates, and how much he knows about Alex." Blunt leaned back in his chair, sighing, and wiping his brow.

"Has Rider been mentioned by name?" He asked softly.

"No."

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

Mrs. Jones stood from her seat and gathered her belongings. As she made her way out the door, Blunt called back at her.

"Tulip?" She froze slightly. It wasn't everyday that Blunt called her by her first name.

He was starting to slip.

It was somewhat understandable. Blunt was treading on thin ice, and she knew that he was very close to losing his job. When they had first employed Alex, it hadn't seemed like a big issue. They had kept it quiet, and covered up most of his mission reports.

The boy was an orphan, anyway, so it wouldn't have been a huge impact if he died.

But making his services public was an issue that concerned the entire government. It would be admitting that they did something illegal.

The citizens would lose trust in the government system, and that would likely result in chaos.

There would be too much backlash if the public ever found out.

Which was why they would try their hardest to make sure it would never get out.

"We need to bring Alex in." Blunt's words jolted her out of her thoughts and Mrs. Jones gave a sharp nod.

She had known that Alex would have to get involved, but it would be hard to drag him back after all that had happened.

As she left the room, Mrs. Jones took one more look at the clearly exhausted man.

Yes, Alan Blunt could be a monster, but he was good at his job.

If he was fired…. well, Mrs. Jones wasn't sure she could stomach being head of MI6

 **~oo0oo~**

Alex sat in the school's library staring intently at his homework.

Staring, not doing, because it seemed that if you missed a large portion of the year before, then you'd have some trouble with this year's maths. He'd always had a talent for maths, but it seemed, he might actually need to learn the material to know how to do it.

He knew he wasn't stupid. After all, he had been selected for bloody MI6 at age fourteen. They didn't employ idiots.

And yet, looking down at the equations on his paper, he couldn't feel more dumb.

There was another option. He could go ask the teacher for help, and maybe some private tutoring after school. But he knew that would only help enforce the idea that he was incapable. He would look worse in the eyes of the school bullies.

So Alex gritted his teeth and scribbled down some numbers, barely following the outline of the equations.

As long as it looked legitimate, he would get full marks (or at least he hoped).

A sudden tap on his shoulder caused Alex to lift his head. Looking up, he found himself staring into the kind face of the school librarian.

"The library's closing, young man." The words scrolled across his vision and Alex just knew that her voice was dripping with fake kindness. "I'm afraid you'll have to find somewhere else to work."

Alex just nodded, stuffing his papers into his backpack and quickly leaving the library.

He could finish it at home.

If he finished at all.

He had wanted to be normal - or at least he had thought so. But a month of school had already gone by, and Alex still was an outcast. He had thought that once things with MI6 ended, he'd go back to being a regular student.

So why didn't he feel normal? Why couldn't he fit in with everyone else?

It was probably the fact that deep down, he just didn't care anymore. He wanted to do well in school, but after all that he'd done, seen, and gone through, it just didn't seem like a big deal anymore.

Nothing in life seemed relevant.

He pushed open the doors to the school and stepped outside. Taking a deep breath, Alex closed his eyes. He could make it. He could get through this.

As he began the short walk home, Alex felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He assumed it was a text message, one of the many he'd received over the past few weeks.

None of them were pleasant, but Alex had already made the decision to avoid telling the teachers and headmaster. There wasn't really any need. Sure, the other students thought he was a drug addict or gang member, but he didn't need anybody involved.

They were only words.

Words on a screen that couldn't affect him. They only had power if he actually listened to what they said.

At least, that's what he told himself.

He had just crossed the road, when he felt that familiar prickle on the back of his neck. Instead of being alarmed, Alex just increased his speed slightly. He knew he was being followed - he had been everyday for the past couple weeks. However, his stalker never did anything. They just followed him from a distance, never attacking or becoming visible.

The first time it had happened, Alex chalked it up to paranoia. He had just come back from a mission, after all.

But after a few more days with the same feeling, he began to trust his senses.

It had only cemented his suspicions further when he caught a glimpse of a person stepping back behind a bush.

Initially, Alex had done everything he could to rid himself of the stalker. He stocked up on weapons, arming himself in case it was Scorpia. He could never be too careful. However, as the weeks passed by and the person never actually did anything, his fears began to diminish. Why worry about something that he wasn't even sure about?

He could take them regardless of his hearing issues.

After all, it was likely just an MI6 body guard checking up on him or something.

Sometimes, he let his head get to him.

At last, Alex reached his house. He unlocked the door in a simple methodical motion. Moving towards the sofa, he dropped his backpack on the floor and slid off his shoes.

He didn't bother turning on the lights, because they were all on anyways.

Alex didn't particularly want to check his phone. It was just going to be crammed with hurtful messages. Honestly, he just wanted to be done with it.

Sighing, he threw the offending object in the direction of his backpack and cringed slightly when it hit the wooden floor. The phone already displayed a spiderweb of cracks across the screen, so would one more really matter?

Alex turned on the TV.

He flipped to a news channel, because why not? He just loved to watch how the government was screwing everything up.

His finger rested on top of the _subtitles_ button.

He hesitated.

Alex swiftly his glasses and tossed the remote control onto the table in front of him. He didn't need subtitles.

He wasn't…..he…. _he wasn't disabled_.

So Alex sat there well into the night, staring at the screen. He never noticed the blaring noise of the speakers that could be heard faintly from outside the house. He never noticed the sounds coming from outside, or the sound of the kitchen window breaking.

How could he?

But it felt normal. And to Alex, that's what mattered.

 **~oo0oo~**

"Are you sure this is his house?"

 _"Quiet! He might hear us!"_

"Do you hear the sound of that TV? I reckon he'd practically deaf if he has to listen to it at that volume."

A small group of boys huddled in the bushes outside Alex's house. In their hands, they clutched various objects ranging from toilet paper to spray paint and hammers.

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Asked one boy quietly. He had been friends with Alex, and he felt a tiny bit of guilt for what they were about to do.

"C'mon James. The druggie deserves it. Plus, wasn't his uncle rich? He'll have no trouble paying for any _accidental_ damage.

James Hale just nodded weakly.

"Ok guys. We need to get this done quickly. _And keep your bloody mouths shut!_ " The leader, Mason Taylor, growled as he shooed his classmates in different directions.

Mason was the well known school bully. He didn't have anything personal against Alex, but he was easy prey, and one that Mason could do the most damage to.

It always helped when his victim's self esteem was already low.

Mason lifted a can of spray paint to the house, grinning at how the dark words stood against the neatly painted wall. He sprayed a bit more, and then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

 _Druggie Rider,_ as well as several other obscene things decorated the side of the house.

He grinned and turned to see how the other boys were faring.

Toilet paper littered the lawn and a good portion of the grass was painted odd colors. Mason wasn't sure what good the painted grass would do, but he did know it would take forever to get rid of.

Raising the hammer, he smashed one of the garden decorations - a small blue gnome. It was rather odd that Rider had a few gnomes, since he didn't actually have a garden, but it gave Mason more things to break.

It was all going according to their hastily made plan, until Mason suddenly heard the sound of glass breaking .

" _No_." He ran over to the sound, his scowl deepening as he realized the kitchen window was completely and utterly shattered. " _You idiots!_ " He breathed.

The two boys that had done the deed looked at him with panicked expressions.

"It was an accident! We were only trying to-" One started to say, but Mason cut him off.

"We gotta go! _Guys, run!_ " He was speaking loudly now, trying to get his classmates to hear him.

Rider would surely hear the widow breaking. They were screwed.

The graffiti was a dumb prank and could easily be covered up, but not the window. If the cops caught them….

Mason swore under his breath.

The boys quickly dispersed into the night, carrying their assorted items along with them. Mason took out in a dead sprint, getting as far away from the scene as possible.

He took a peek back at the house as boarded his bike. It was rather odd, since the lights were all on and he could still hear the faint sound of the TV playing.

Nobody came outside and nobody investigated the broken window.

Perhaps Rider, or his housekeeper weren't home?

Brushing away those thoughts, Mason pedaled away into the night.

~oo0oo~

Thanks guys for the reviews, favorites, and follows. I feel like 17 reviews from just two chapter is pretty amazing and I'm glad that so many of you have decided to stick with me:)

I promise I'll update before 2018…..


	4. Chapter 4

I'm back again with another chapter, as promised. No promises, however, for the next update.

 **~oo0oo~**

The Four Fifths Spy, Chapter 4

Something felt off.

Maybe it was the extra chill to the air, that alluded him to it, or perhaps the putrid smell of paint that wafted throughout the house, but Alex knew that something was wrong.

He sat straight up in his bed, stiff as wood, and slowly reached for the handgun he kept tucked under his pillow. Checking the ammo, he quietly clicked off the safety and slowly made his way through the house.

He stepped into the living room, muscles tensed and heart beating wildly. It never got old, the adrenaline rush and the sense of danger.

 _Maybe he really was meant to be a spy._

But Alex sucked down the thought and locked in deep inside his chest. He was just a schoolboy, one who just happened to be holding a gun in the middle of his living room.

He pivoted, pointing the gun around the room, looking for an intruder.

Nothing.

Lowering his arm, Alex wiped a bead of sweat off his brow.

He really needed to calm down.

Alex slid the gun into the waistband of his belt and walked into the kitchen. He'd make some toast, drink some coffee, and everything would be okay. He could still have a normal day.

And then he saw it.

The glass scattered all throughout the room, and the empty window frame. Biting down the swell of anger rising from his stomach, he quickly moved the door.

He'd _kill_ whoever did this.

Swinging the large oak door open, his eyes were greeted by the sight of an absolute disaster. The grass was a bright purple and obscene words littered across the wall to his house.

Alex cursed under his breath.

 _How_ , exactly, was he supposed to deal with this?

It must have been someone from school. Nobody else would have done something like this.

His real enemies would've done _much_ worse.

Just as he was about to stalk off to school in his pajamas, and give the students a piece of his mind, a sleek black car pulled up.

Alex immediately recognized it as one of the bank cars. Why were they here? They had already cut off all ties with him, hadn't they? He wanted nothing to do with MI6 anymore.

But he kept his face neutral as Crawley rolled down the window, and beckoned for him to come.

No. He wouldn't. Not anymore. He owed them _nothing_.

So he stared, impassively, right into Crawley's emotionless eyes.

The man's lips moved quickly and a surge of frustration welled up inside Alex's stomach. He didn't have his glasses on.

Didn't Crawley... _know_?

Alex slammed the door and stalked back over to his sofa. He grabbed the black frames from where he had left the the night before, and shoved them onto his face.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

Peeking out the window, he saw that Crawley was still there. Couldn't that man take a hint?

Alex knew he should go out and talk to him. Maybe give him a piece of his mind.

Tell him how Alex was would never go back to MI6 on any circumstance.

But as he got up from the sofa and began to make his way to the door, Alex spotted his phone in the corner, right where he had throw it earlier.

It was blinking, a new message most likely.

Alex turned it on, and his heart dropped to the pits of his stomach.

He quickly dressed and went out to the car. Nodding to Crawley, they drove off.

Throughout the car ride, one thought swirled around in his head, eating up all this thoughts.

 _Someone knows._

 **~oo0oo~**

It was almost aggravating, the way that everything still seemed the same.

How he had changed so much since he had first arrived at the bank, and yet the same sight still greeted him as he pushed open the intricate glass door.

Even the receptionist looked the same. Maybe a bit older, and a bit more tired looking, but she wasn't any different.

Crawley nodded to her as they passed and she gave a wry smile. Alex wondered how well she knew what was _really_ going on upstairs.

Sure, she would have to know that the head of MI6 resided upstairs, but did the receptionist really know that she was working for such a conniving, heartless, jerk…

Alex cut off the thought. He couldn't afford to let his anger towards Blunt ruin everything. He was here to fix the situation, solve the problem, and nothing more.

It was them who kicked him out, and Alex couldn't hate them more for it. It sent chills down his arm just being inside the building, acting as if it was just a normal day in the spy business.

Acting as if MI6 hadn't ruined his life.

The elevator arrived at the floor all too soon, and Alex couldn't help but regret his decision to come. Checking his watch, he realized school would be starting in a few minutes.

Just another absence for the books.

Stepping out into the hallway, he forced his features into an expressionless mask. Crawley gave him a look, one saying " _that's not going to fool anyone_ ," but Alex kept his face straight ahead.

He rolled back his shoulders and straightened his glasses, before pushing open the door.

Alan Blunt was seated at the desk in the center of the room, staring intensely at him. He didn't look shocked at all that Alex had just entered the room. In fact, Alex wouldn't have been surprised if the man had been watching the security cameras the entire time.

"Alexander." His face was impassive and uncaring, and Alex didn't have to hear him to know that it was equally emotionless.

"Blunt." He spat the words out, the syllable feeling like stiff and cotton-like on his tongue.

"Have a seat."

Alex bit back a rude remark. _How dare he act like nothing had changed!_

But he sat, swallowing his anger and locking it deep inside his chest.

 _Control_.

He just had to stay focused. The situation was more important than any personal qualms he had about being in this office. Alex had to keep his priorities straight, _focus_ on what he needed to do.

"I assume you received our message?"

Alex nodded sharply.

Blunt opened a drawer, pulling out a plain manilla folder, stamped with "highly classified" in bold, red ink.

 _How stereotypical of them_.

"We are doing our best to handle the situation. Almost all active agents are working on it currently, and we are following a few leads."

Blunt handed him the folder, and Alex gripped the stiff paper tightly, crinkling the edges.

"You, however, should still be informed." He motioned to the folder, and Alex forced himself to open.

And then he read.

The pieces began to click together, fastening into place and revealing part of the bigger picture. The stalker, the uncomfortable feeling he had walking home. He had been right.

 _Someone was watching him._

They were taking pictures, too, by the looks of it. A print out of the supposedly published article was at the top of the stack of papers, and it displayed a blurry image of him.

A wave of nausea ran over Alex, and he suddenly wanted to run out of the room. He wanted to be anywhere but here.

The whole thing could be moments from becoming public knowledge. All his missions. All his sacrifices. The fact that he wasn't really a completely normal school boy.

He couldn't let that happen.

Alex had kept the secret for more than a year now. It wasn't time for people to know. It would _never_ be that time.

Because once it was out, it could never go back.

He would never be viewed the same.

The only comfort he had was knowing that the picture revealed nothing. It was a blurry picture of a blond haired boy, a common hair color, and it could be anyone.

The article didn't reveal any essential facts about him, nothing that could hint people to his identity.

It was just the way that the article was written that unnerved Alex. The way that the author seemed to be holding back.

Alex knew that this guy, Edward Hawkins, _knew_. He had to.

The facts, his missions, were scarily accurate. The only thing that hadn't been mentioned was his name.

Alex had a feeling that that was intentional. This guy was playing a game, and Alex didn't know the rules. All he knew, was that he couldn't afford to lose.

His whole life depended on it.

Looking up at Blunt, he saw the man's lips cease their movement. He had said something, and yet Alex the ex-spy, _had absolutely no idea what._

"I'm sorry, _but I wasn't watching you_. Could you repeat what you said." Alex's voice dripped with anger. What idiotic ruse was this man playing at?

Blunt had debriefed him after the... _incident_. He knew that Alex couldn't understand him without using the glasses.

 _He knew that Alex was de-_

No.

He wasn't.

He was still okay.

He could still function perfectly fine.

Alex reached up and pointedly adjusted his glasses, keeping eye contact with Blunt the entire time.

"My mistake." The man's grin stretched wide, just like a crocodile, and Alex understood in that moment that Blunt knew exactly what he was doing. He didn't make mistakes.

He was trying to unnerve Alex, but for what reason, he couldn't fathom.

"Do you have any further questions about the situation?"

Alex began to shake his head, but then stopped suddenly.

"How many people did the article reach before it was taken down?"

Blunt's face flickered for a split second, and Alex felt a sliver of shock. Since when did Blunt, the head of a spy organization, slip?

"Too many." Blunt clasped his hands on top of the desk, knuckles turning white. "It won't happen again."

Alex nodded, and stood, still clutching the manilla folder close to his chest.

"Remember, MI6 has this under control. Don't do _anything_. We don't need you involved."

Wasn't that helpful? He was supposed to act utterly incompetent and not lift a finger to prevent his secret from getting out. It was all because they decided he was useless.

It was because he no longer worked for them.

"I don't suppose you'll be giving me a school note?"

Blunt just gave him a sharp stare.

Alex nodded and left the room. Crawley was waiting outside the door, and together they walked to the elevator in silence.

Not that it would've mattered, anyway, if the man decided to talk.

Alex punched the button to the elevator, wishing that somehow he could do something. But it was out of his control.

Normal schoolboys didn't go and take down stalkerish journalists.

And he was normal.

Wasn't he?

 **~oo0oo~**

It was just a standard, bland day. Nothing interesting, and nothing abnormal.

Mr. Browning called roll, automatically found from one name to the next. The room rang with sounds of " _here_ " and " _present_ ," and he barely paused after calling each name.

And then he got to Alex Rider.

He almost passed over the name, marking the boy as present and moving on. After all, he had heard the rumors and stories, but Alex had a spotless attendance so far.

"Alex?" He called again, wondering if he had perhaps missed the boy's response.

The classroom remained utterly silent.

Sighing, he put a checkmark by Alex's name. The flu was going around this time of year, perhaps that was the cause?

He hoped it wasn't one of the other rumors that he'd heard.

So Mr. Browning continued to call the roll, trying to ignore the whispers that erupted throughout the classroom.

The whispers of Alex's whereabouts, where he had gone _again_ , and bets being placed on the amount of time he'd be absent.

But there was nothing he could do.

Teenagers were harsh, and it'd only be worse for Alex if he tried to refute some of the rumors. So he continued on with the lesson.

Everything was normal.

At least it was, until Alex Rider came barreling into the room twenty minutes late.

 **~oo0oo~**

"Sorry that I'm late, sir." Alex panted, sucking in air between clenched teeth.

Looking around, the entire class had lapsed into silence as they stared at him, and Alex realized that he had completely interrupted the lesson. His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

"Sorry." He repeated, edging towards his seat.

Mr. Browning just looked at him with slight interest written all over his face.

"Do you have a note?"

Alex shook his head, wishing that he could just sit down and be done with it all. The longer he stood in front of the class, in front of his classmates stares…well, he wasn't sure how much longer he could handle their scrutinizing gazes.

"See me after class." Mr. Browning's face was hard, and his expression had a look of finality to it.

Alex gave a slight nod, and sat down quickly, ducking his head and avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room. He knew, deep down that Mr. Browning wasn't going to take the usual excuses; " _I slept through my alarm_ " or " _my bike broke on the way to school._ " And honestly, Alex was tired of lying.

Tired of _pretending_.

The lesson, some boring explanation of grammar, passed by far too quickly, and Alex felt the familiar coil of dread rise up in his stomach.

He had done so much worse, and yet, a simple chat with a teacher felt like the end of the world.

Ironic, wasn't it?

A slight tap on his shoulder set his senses and muscles into alert. Turning around wildly, he fingered the gun tucked inside his belt, and began to slip out of his chair.

Alex looked up into the kind, but slightly startled face of Mr. Browning.

The man's lips moved slowly, and Alex assumed that he had taken on a calming tone of voice. "I apologize for startling you; I had called your name, but you seemed to not hear me."

The teacher took a seat in the desk next to him. "Are you okay, Alex?"

 _No_.

"Yes." He forced the word out, nodding slightly along with it. He didn't need this... _this sympathy._

Mr. Browning just stared at him, long and hard, and Alex almost felt like the man was seeing through him. Like he was stripping away all of Alex's barriers, and attempting to get to the truth.

Alex hated it.

"Pardon me, sir, but if that's it, am I free to leave now?"

The words seemed to jolt Mr. Browning out of his stupor. "No, we need to talk."

Alex sighed.

"This was your first absence, or rather, tardy of the year, but I looked at your records and you had an inexcusable amount the previous term-"

"I was sick." Alex interrupted. He was done with MI6, and that year was in the past. He'd be better about attendance this year. "My uncle had recently died, and my immune system was weakened from that. I have the doctors notes to prove it."

Mr. Browning nodded. "Yes, and those absences are accounted for. However, you need to be more careful about your attendance this year. We can't have you falling back into the same habits as before."

A sense of disgust welled up inside Alex. What this teacher seemed to be implying….

Apparently, the rumors about Alex - the ones about gangs, drugs, and all that stuff - had spread to even the teachers.

"I'm not involved in any of _that_ business." Alex spat, trying to keep his tone even. "Today was a mistake, and it's not going to happen again."

Mr. Browning nodded again, keeping weirdly calm. "You're free to leave now."

He beckoned to the door.

Alex rose warily from his seat. That was it? No punishment, or referral? No talk with the headmaster?

Just as he reached for the door handle, Mr. Browning spoke again.

"I'll see you tomorrow after school, for detention."

There it was. Detention.

It was stupid really, he didn't deserve detention just for being late to class. Alex was pretty sure that wasn't how punishment worked.

"For how long?"

The teacher just calmly walked over to his desk, arranging a couple of desks on his way.

"Until you're done."

 **~oo0oo~**

Tom Harris was completely, and utterly done with Alex's crap.

Yes, he understood that he needed to give Alex time. He didn't want to be pushy, and he had given Alex the space he had needed.

And yet, it had been weeks... _months_ even, and Alex had only seemed to push him further away.

Tom wanted his friend back.

So, the minute the school bell rang, he sprinted out the door, and went straight to Alex's house, hoping to greet him as he arrived home.

Instead, Tom was greeted by the sight of disaster.

The yard was entirely trashed and obscene words littered the wall. A sense of horror filled him as he stared at the shattered window.

He knew it was the boys at school who did this. Who else called Alex a druggie and a convict?

Tom bit down the nasty words that rose to his lips, and pulled out his phone.

"Hey, Jerry? Can you meet me at Alex's in five?"

Tom picked up a shattered garden gnome from the ground.

"Yeah. Bring a rake, and some other cleaning supplies." Tom paused. "Do you know how to get spray paint off of a wall?"

 **~oo0oo~**

I'd like to thank all of you for taking the time to read my story, like seriously, _thank you_. And to all of you who reviewed and gave feedback, you all are absolutely wonderful human beings. Twenty-three reviews is a pretty amazing number for only three chapters. Like wow. Just wow.

I hope everyone has a fantastic New Years! ❥


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